Loaded Shotgun
by Penelope Jadewing
Summary: Words are more powerful than anyone really realizes. And there are three which are among the most powerful of them all. Three which Elliot wonders if he can bring himself to say. Mild censored swearing. VERY LONG ONESHOT. Elliot x Fem!OC


**A/N: Your job to figure out what the title means! XP This is another Elliot/Nerys fic... Kinda cliche, but oh well. I needed to bring in a few characters, and had some sweet ideas for Elly and Rys along the way. *shrug* Really, REALLY long oneshot. If you make it all the way to the end, I applaud you, and have a few other notes as well. As always, enjoy! :) And if there's any inconsistencies in here, I apologize in advance. Took me forever to finish it, and some details might've gotten forgotten along the way. XP**

**~Penelope**

_"Love. Yes, he was in love with her. Not just love, as in, dear-me-I-think-I'm-in-love love, but /Love/, as in, pass-the-poison-I-must-die-without-you love. This new beast his mind had to wrestle with presented a more difficult challenge than any he'd ever encountered."_

- Blink, by Ted Dekker

"You realize your family would hate you and possibly kill you if they knew what we were doing, right?"

At the beginning, he might've agreed, with both her and his family. She's only a servant after all. What business did a noble and a servant have doing this sort of thing? Sneaking out in the middle of study hour, stealing away into the woods… But he doesn't care. Not anymore. Not since he's grown accustomed to the way her fingers fit perfectly between his, the way her twisted smile can make his heart race and face feel warm and cold both at the same time, the way that in just a short month, she's managed to capture him so wholly and completely, he should feel angry and restricted and anxious like a wild animal in a cage, but he doesn't. For reasons unknown to him, he's found himself in the past days to be utterly, hopelessly wrapped around her finger.

Well… reasons unknown beyond the fact that she's just plain gorgeous, and knows how to get under his skin so well, it scares him sometimes.

She nudges him and points a gloved, tapered finger at the stunning blue winter sky – she always describes his eyes as the same color. He smiles to himself.

"Can you say… 'giraffe in a top hat'?" she says, quirking her mouth thoughtfully to the side.

He frowns, staring up at the cloud. It seems like ages since he did this, cloud gaze. But he isn't so unpracticed in the art that he's gone blind.

"Uh, can you say 'no'?" He looks over at her, brow furrowing. She gives him an appalled look of faux offense in return, and smacks his arm with her knuckles, making him flinch. Of course, through his heavy overcoat, he barely feels it. But he grins, anyway.

"Fine, smart mouth, what do _you _think it looks like?"

He stares at her, not moving for a long while. He waits just until a blush begins to steal its way across her ivory cheeks before smiling and looking back up at the cloud in question. Frowning, he studies it for a while. It really doesn't look like anything anymore; the wind has, for the most part, turned it to nothing but silky white wisps, like stretched strands of cotton on a canvas of periwinkle blue. But if there's anything it resembles now…

"A hand," he says, cocking his head, feeling leaves sink itself further into his hair. He can't help noting it's nothing compared to the gentle comb of Nerys' fingers… He shivers a bit at the cold, moving to tuck one arm under his head as a pillow.

"Don't move so much; can you imagine what people would say if we _both _showed up soaked? The rumors would fly; why do nobles have to enjoy hearing themselves talk so much?"

He gives her a sharp look, at which she rolls her golden eyes. "Most nobles, Elliot! Most; and you are, most definitely, not under that category… usually."

His indignation swells at that – there are very few things she says that doesn't illicit this reaction – but before he can get in a word, she looks back up at the sky. "So, how is it a hand?"

Elliot settles back in the wet white powder that surrounds them, though he determines to himself that he will address that unnecessary 'usually' later. When he looks down at their clasped hands between them, he forgets it completely, and the smile works its way back onto his face. It's ridiculous to feel so happy over such a small, trivial thing, like how warm and soft her gloved palm feels pressed against his, but… somehow, he can't help it. He's lying in a bed of snow and wet autumn leaves, but he's not freezing in the least.

His gaze travels back up to the cloud. "Look – there's the fingers, splayed out, see? Like it's reaching for something. Like… there's something there we can't see… something important, that's just out of reach…"

A shadow blocks the sunlight, and he finds he no longer has to squint as he looks into the face of the young woman who is his companion for the moment. A smirk purses her mouth – he finds himself briefly distracted by the way the light reflecting off the surrounding grass glistens on those supple rosy lips – and her eyes sparkle. She plays at a few ornery strands of his sandy bangs, settling some of her weight – not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to make his pulse pound – on his chest.

"Have I told you how much it chills me when you get all deep and mysterious and poetic?"

He swallows – well, more like gulps. Despite part of him craving moments like these like Gilbert craves cigarettes – nasty habit – he still can't help but be nervous… "I don't do it often… Particularly around you."

A wry frown twists her fair brow, and she scoffs. "Why not?"

Another gulp. "B-Because… y-you seem to be in the habit of doing this."

She only leans in further – such he expected. "You only stutter when you're nervous. Why are you nervous? Is there something wrong with this?"

How on earth could she have picked up on the stuttering after such a short time of working with them? There are still things he has yet to figure out about her… Like her scar. The one over her right eye. She still won't tell him where she got it. And yet, she picked up on the stuttering? His eye twitches.

"It's not fair," he mutters, not caring how childish it sounds. "You know what… You manipulate me, and you enjoy it."

She laughs; he discovers cloud nine all over again every time he hears it, and the fact that a mere sound – a beautiful sound, like the bright tone of happy wind chimes and a mellow undertone of French horns – can unravel him so easily.

"Yes, I do." She leans in close and her lips feather over his. A light touch, barely felt, warm and moist in contrast to the crisp winter air. It's enough to tease him, rouse that terrible beast of lust within that he's begun to find harder and harder to resist as of late (but most certainly, resist it he must; already, he has to ward off dangerous thoughts), tempt him with the promise of something deeper just below the surface, just out of his reach. And blast her, she won't give it to him!

Oh, he craves being manipulated. By now, he's addicted to it.

To think he'd told Gilbert all those years ago that he'd never get addicted to anything. Besides maybe Holy Knight… or, well, reading in general. Or swordplay… or sneaking cookies or strawberry jam from the pantry…

All right, so he's failed yet again. It isn't as if he'll admit it to anyone.

She holds herself there, taking her agonizingly sweet time, the light caress of her lips unraveling every inch of irritation or other such negative emotion from the fibers of his being. Just as he lifts his hand – he has to capture her, end this torture and just kiss her like he needs to! – she pulls away. But it's only a brief pause; he opens his mouth to speak, hot breath turning frosty white, and she plunges in, this time deeper. She's eager, enthusiastic, fervently passionate and quite sloppy in that short moment of breathlessness, and it's everything that makes him want to hold her tightly and never let go. Then, she's gone again, pulling away. Her tongue flickers over her lips like a serpent's, and heat rushes to his face. She's grinning so foolishly, he can't help but wonder if he's wearing the same expression? He can never tell anymore.

She takes a short, hesitating breath, trailing a fingertip in a circle just under his left eye – his beauty mark seems to be a point of fixation for her – before pressing a soft kiss at the same spot. "You know what I love even more than when you're all dark and mysterious?"

His only response is cutting off a moan as she nips at his ear. A part of him feels weak and helpless and balks at it. The other relishes in the sweet ecstasy of being at her mercy. She laughs, resting her forehead against his.

"I love when you stutter."

_Love, love, love, she said love_. "I-I…" Words fail him; after all, it usually takes him a while to recover from her onslaughts. His stupor, though, only makes her laugh again, and something stutters in his chest.

"You _are _an idiot, Elliot."

Before he can respond, she kisses him again, soft and gentle this time. It's a chaste kiss, a simple kiss, the most loving kiss they've ever shared. How much more speechless can she render him? He may not be able to speak for the rest of the day as it is.

He misses her warmth the moment they part, and she ducks her head to rest her mouth on the side of his face, near his ear. Her breath is warm as she whispers.

"I still say it was a giraffe."

Then, a new voice, but a familiar one, breaks the pleasurable atmosphere.

"You know, if _anyone _but me had been told to come find you, both of you would be dead by now."

Elliot knew the voice too well, and the knowledge that his valet had seen him and a woman in such a compromised position sent him shooting upright like a sprung mousetrap. "D*****, Leo!"

"Language."

He looks down at Nerys, frowning. "…Sorry." Of course, rather involuntarily, he realizes he has an arm wrapped around her waist to steady her and keep her close even as sat up. She shifts to sit on his lap, and nestles close, resting her head on his chest.

"Then, we shall die as Romeo and Juliet!" she trumpets to Leo with breathy dramatics, clutching the front of Elliot's coat in her fist. He can feel the angles of her knuckles against his chest even through all the layers of winter wear. "As star-crossed lovers surrounded by a world determined to keep us apart!"

_Lovers. She called us lovers. Are we lovers? _The very thought is enough to make him shiver. Nerys must feel it, because she glances up at him, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Leo chuckles from his place leaning against a nearby maple tree, arms folded over his chest. "Sure. Makes sense."

Of course it doesn't. Does love ever make sense? His back goes rigid; did he really just think that? Did he think 'love'? No, he couldn't have… Could he? _No, I couldn't… I mean… I'm not… _in love _with her… am I? No. This is just… en experiment. Just a passing… thing._

Right? Right.

Good. Now, all he has to do is keep telling himself that.

Maybe he'll start believing it.

"It's almost five o' clock," Leo states, glancing up at the sky.

Elliot leaps to his feet, forgetting momentarily about Nerys in his haste. "C***! Vanessa's gonna kill me!"

Leo laughs. "She already promised she would. Just before she ordered me to come get you. Amazing, one of the only people who can scare you is your sister, who's about two, three inches shorter than you."

"Hey, she makes up for the difference in height. Believe me, it hurts." Elliot flinches as a well-packed snowball pelts him in the cheek. Apparently, Nerys has picked herself up off the ground. It still amazes him how hard she can throw (or swing, or hit for that matter) for a girl, and the smarting in his face will serve as a reminder for the next minute or two. He scowls, rubbing where the frozen material left his face stinging. "Just like that! What the h*** was that for!?"

"For throwing me off like a sack of potatoes." She then punches him in the shoulder. Hard.

"AGH!"

"And that was for the swearing."

As he rubs his throbbing arm, he reminds himself to watch what he says around his girlfriend.

Oops. Girlfriend. Uhh…

"A sack of potatoes?" repeats Leo with a look of incredulous amusement.

Nerys shrugs, folding her arms. "One of the heaviest things a person can carry without the use of machinery or anything. Take my word for it."

"Done it before." Leo turns back to Elliot. "You only have an hour to get ready, now, you know, and we're burning daylight just standing here."

Elliot's already moving by the time he says 'get ready', and the two servants fall into step behind him. They leave the small grove and enter into the waiting arms of the woods. Skeletal branches sway above them, as if beckoning, urging them on through the hidden paths among the leaf-less underbrush.

The Nightray house is holding a banquet tonight, for the young representatives of the family that called themselves the Fidel house – a dukedom that had emerged from the turmoil surrounding the return of Oz Vessalius, and is now under intense scrutiny from Pandora. Thus far, the representatives have visited the Barma house, and the Vessalius house. Both houses had treated them curtly, or so Elliot had been told, and sent them on their way after a brief sitting. But the Nightrays, Elliot knows, can sympathize with the feeling of not being trusted by anyone. It still makes him seeth, how the Vessalius get royal treatment, and the Nightrays are lost in their shadow, under suspicion because of an age-old rumor.

So, the house is welcoming these strangers with open arms, and a banquet in their honor. Not only in hopes of a new ally, but as a jab in the faces of the other dukedoms. Elliot smirks to himself at the thought.

They come to the house in a short time, and Elliot hesitates at the door. Leo pauses, looking back at him.

"You're not _scared_, are you, Elliot?" says the valet with a smirk.

Elliot sniffs. "No. Course not! Just… steeling myself."

"Riiiiiiight."

He gives Leo a pointed glare. "Shut up." He straightens the wrinkles out of his coat, tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves, and brushes himself off to be sure there's no leaves or snow left clinging to his person. Behind him, Nerys snickers.

"You have leaves all over your back. And you're all wet." He feels the tips of her fingers as she brushes away the stuff he can't see. Just when he determines to step away before she turns playful, her fingers hook in his trouser pockets, and she presses herself against him from behind.

"Warmer?" she whispers in his ear. He can feel the curves of her body, and heat paints a streak across his face that he's sure is red as sunburn.

She giggles, feathering a small kiss on the back of his neck. "You're cute when you blush, you know?"

"Nerys!" He jumps away like his life depends on it, swatting her hands away, gently – and reluctantly, though he'd never admit it. "Not so close to the house!"

She gives a dry snort. "Why? It's not as if anyone's going to be watching."

He gives the windows on the two upper stories narrow-eyed looks of suspicion. "You don't know that."

It would be just like his sister or father or even Vincent to spy. Even Gilbert, if he was here, probably would if he had any inkling of what he'd see. With one last shake of his head, Elliot steps up to the mansion's back door, and slips inside. Leo and Nerys follow close behind. At the rack beside the door, Leo takes Elliot's overcoat and jacket and hangs them (Elliot hopes the snow hasn't soaked his vest or shirt as well), while Nerys removes her own cloak. Then they continue on.

The mansion kitchen is bustling with the preparations for the banquet tonight, understandably so. More than just the Fidel representatives and members of the Nightray house are expected to attend. The Rainsworths have been invited to come if they wish, as well as a number of viscounts and barons and other important figures of noble standing. It promises to be quite the party; though none of them know personally the guests of honor, it's quite rare for the nobility to miss the chance for a celebration. After all, parties are the best place for gossip, and what else did nobles love more than wagging their tongues?

Elliot shakes his head to himself. He's spending too much time with Nerys. Not that he could ever stop, even if he wanted to.

Hmm… Nerys won't be allowed to attend the banquet… And if she is, it'll be as an attendant. She'll be busy all evening bringing food, taking empty dishes, serving to everyone else's whims but his and her own. How will he ever get the chance to-

"Elliot!"

At the call of his name, he brings his surroundings into focus just in time to duck under an incoming armload of stacked dishes before he runs face-first into it. The maid carrying them squeaks and tries to sidestep away, almost losing her load. But he brings up a hand as soon as he's recovered, steadying the wavering china platter. The glasses lined on its surface rattle a moment longer, and then fall silent.

"Sorry about that," he mutters, slowly letting go once he's sure the maid – whose name, if he recalls correctly what Nerys has told him, is Katie – has bettered her grip.

She's staring at him with wide brown eyes, a curly lock of brown hair hanging out from under her cap, over her forehead. "N-No! I mean… I-I'm sorry, young master; I'm clumsy as an ox and I wasn't watching where-"

He holds up a hand, stopping her babble before it begins. She's new, Nerys had said, and still not used to addressing nobles; Nerys claims it's out of respect, in a roundabout way. Katie feels herself unworthy to be spoken to by them, or some other such notion. He shakes his head.

"It was completely my fault," he says, talking the calmer approach in hopes it will settle her. "I should have paid attention. I beg your pardon." He inclines his head in punctuation.

She blinks rapidly, before stuttering on. "O-Of course, young master."

"Now, please – go on about your business."

She manages a curtsy even with her burden of china that rattles with her shaking hands. "Yes, young master. Thank you, young master!" With that, she hurries away, muttering to herself in a high-pitched, unintelligible whisper.

Elliot chuckles to himself before turning on his heel and continuing for the kitchen door on the far end, which will take him into the mansion's main dining hall. Vanessa will most likely be waiting for him in the foyer, as it's the centermost point of the whole house.

"It's amazing, you know," says Leo as they exit the busy atmosphere of the kitchen into the quieter, tamer air of the dining room. "How you can act like the perfect diplomat on cue."

Elliot snorts. "I'm a noble. It's what we do."

"Yeah, well, usually, you never would have said it was your fault. You would have blown up and told her off about how she should watch where she's going."

"Felt like it. But didn't. Because I kinda zoned out, myself. I could've avoided it." He glances back to see the wry half-grin quirk his valet's mouth, and grins in response. See? He isn't as predictable as Leo's come to believe, and for that fact, he feels a bit of self-satisfaction. Then he notices the open space behind him.

"Hey, where did Nerys go?"

Leo laughs. "As soon as we stepped into the kitchen, Cook gave her a job to do. They need all the help they can get, I think."

"Eh," Elliot growls, scowling mildly. "I don't get why she can't take the night off."

"Yeah, you do." He can hear the smile in Leo's voice, and it irks him further.

"Fine, then I don't get why I can't request they let her off."

"You know that, too; do you know what they would think? Or do? She's a scullery maid, and your sister's lady in waiting. The reason you can't make special requests for her is the same reason why I advised against asking your father to make her your handmaid."

That had been an embarrassing conversation. Elliot shudders just thinking about it. He'd been reminded once again how blunt Leo can be.

What's worse, Leo's also right once again. If Elliot begins making special requests for Nerys, rumors will blaze instantly, as they are prone to do. Servants will glean what they can from Nerys – what little they can; that girl can be closed-mouth like a bank safe – and then tell other servants of other houses, elaborating on the details that are unclear. Those servants will tell more servants, and somewhere along the line, a servant of higher standing will get a hold of it. That servant will tell their friends, which can very well include their master. And once the rumor breaks out among the nobility, there's no stopping it, or what forms it takes. Before he knows it, they'll be saying Nerys is already his handmaid, and doing who knows what, God forbid, with him.

"Exactly."

He glances at Leo as they round a corner and walk the last stretch of hallway before reaching the foyer. "What?"

"You went pale, tensed your neck, and swallowed. Means you worked something out in your head and actually thought about the consequences of a potential action."

He would have retorted at that, but they round into the foyer, and instantly, the end is upon him. Vanessa's fist closes around his collar and she draws them nose to nose. Caught off balance, he barely has time to react before she screams in his face.

"You're late, you idiot! Do you know how long I've been waiting here for you!?" Her blue eyes blaze and, if looks could kill, both Elliot and Leo would be crispy critters. Leo, however, has wisely remained behind the doorway, out of Vanessa's reach.

"We only have fifty-four minutes left, and I'm not even dressed for the banquet yet!" she carries on, clenching her teeth. "You know how long these things take, Elliot! Look at you; your hair is soaked and… you have _leaves_ in it!"

He scowls, though she doesn't notice. He's sure Nerys left the leaves on purpose.

"You have to get ready, too; don't you know how long that's going to take!?"

He cocks a brow at her. "Not nearly as long as you will." He barely manages to catch her hand as she swats at him.

"Now is NOT the time for goofing off! I don't know what you did out there, but get your head screwed on straight! You're in the real world again; now go and you'd better be ready in time!"

She storms to the doorway, where Leo scuttles off to the side, a good distance out of sight, until she's passed. Hans follows, the big man giving both boys sympathetic looks before disappearing with his mistress. Elliot blinks after them, straightening his collar and pressing it flat again. Leo steps into the room.

"Did steeling yourself help?"

Elliot shrugs. "About as much as it ever does." He takes a deep, short breath and lets it out with a sharp sigh before combing his fingers through his hair to rake out the leaves. Sure enough, a few damp brown leaves come out between his fingers.

"Which-"

The knocker sounds from the front doors, and both of them lift their heads at the sound. There are no servants around; all of them will be away preparing for the banquet. Elliot hesitates only a moment before heading for the doors, while Leo glances over at the tall grandfather clock at the back wall.

"Huh. They here early, you think?"

"Probably. I have a feeling they have more business with us than just a party." Elliot swings open the door.

Outside, on the platform, stand two people. The tallest draws his attention first, simply because the young man has to be at least six feet tall! If not an inch or so taller. He's wiry – some might even call him gangly – but seems solidly built, clad in a navy overcoat of obviously military fashioning with a red sash about his waist, and stands with an air of kind authority – the kindness saturates from his hazel eyes, the color of metallic gold, that sort of silvery grey-brown-yellow color. They stand out with surprising boldness in his pale, freckled face. The young man bows at the waist, some of his straight, jaw-length red hair falling in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside with a white-gloved hand as he straightens.

"Good afternoon," he says with a brogue that sounds strangely dignified – Scottish, Elliot thinks. "I'm guessing ya're the youngest lord o' the house."

_How does he know that? _Elliot gives a confused frown, but nods. "Yes… How-?"

"Even our servants donnae ever dress so casually around the house," the stranger says with a friendly smile. Elliot finds himself relaxing just by the newcomer's open, calm, honest demeanor. His smile isn't guarded, nor is it deceiving, like Vincent's. It's simply… there.

"My name is Jonathan Fidel – my father is Duke Onyx Fidel – and this," he gestures to the second person at the door, "is my sister, Mercy."

Mercy curtsies, the hem of the crisp skirt of what's obviously a uniform brushing the knees of her white leather leggings that end where her black boots begin at her ankles. She dons a sharp-looking coat of matching color to her brother's, though it doesn't have the length of the latter but bears the same blood-red sash. Some kind of family symbol or crest, Elliot assumes. He can't help but notice the swords at both Fidels' sides, and the matching color of their hair, but not their eyes. While Jonathan's are a striking hazel, Mercy's are a deep forest green. Even so, they're quite obviously related.

Elliot bows politely in return, and opens the door wider. "Yes, of course – please come in."

Second time in one day he's been forced to play diplomat. A new record.

"I'm Elliot Nightray, and this is Leo." C***. Shoulda just said 'valet'; friend though Leo is, it's not noble behavior to introduce your servants by name, without title.

Eh. Does it really matter?

Leo gives a bow, and Elliot watches the smiles on the strangers' faces closely. Jonathan tilts his head to the side.

"A valet, by yer stance," he says, putting his hand forward. "And a good friend, by yer introduction. A pleasure t' make yer acquaintance. May I shake yer hand?"

Elliot ponders this a moment. Nobles never shake hands with nobles. They bow (or curtsy, in womens' cases). But no one has ever said anything about nobles shaking servants' hands… have they?

Leo hesitates only a moment before shaking the young Fidel's hand. Jonathan looks pleased.

"You can tell a lot by a handshake, so they say," the Scottish youth says, withdrawing his hand to rest it on the hilt of his sword – an absentminded habit, Elliot thinks, more so than any sort of threat. "The firmer the handshake, the better. Now!" He turns to Elliot abruptly. "Sounds like there's 'sposed to be quite the party this evening. I apologize for arriving so early, but we need t' speak with yer father before then."

Elliot nods. "Right." He almost inserts an 'uh', but stops himself and holds it back. It's actually been quite a while since he's tended to visitors himself. "I'll escort you to his study myself."

After Jonathan nods, Elliot grabs Leo's arm and pulls him aside to whisper to him. "Leo… I have an idea."

The valet frowns. "What?"

"For Nerys, I have an idea. Do you think you can get a couple maids and get her banquet-worthy?"

"Elliot…"

"Like any other noblewoman, that's all, Leo. I think I have a plan."

Leo shakes his head. "A plan for what? Why is this so important to you?"

"Just because, Leo!" he says, whisper becoming harsh. He clears his throat and lowers his voice again. "Just because. Trust me. I'll take care of them," he nods toward the Fidels, "I'll go get ready for the banquet, and then I'll meet you and Nerys outside my study."

Cocking a brow, Leo eyes him closely before shaking his head. "All right… I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming." He gives Leo a shove in the right direction. "Get going!"

Leo rolls his eyes and exits the room, heading back in the direction of the kitchen. Elliot then turns to the Fidels.

"All right; ready?"

Jonathan nods, though he gestures at the closed front doors. "Our valets are waiting; where shall I have them bring our things?"

Of course. They must have separate wardrobes for the banquet. "Ah, you can just have them bring whatever luggage you have into the parlor."

The redhead nods again and peers out the doors again, calling to their valets before turning away, leaving the door open for the valets to enter – Elliot notes one has rather exotic features; Spanish, perhaps.

After directing the valets to the parlor, Elliot leads Jonathan and Mercy through the halls, and up the stairs to the second floor, where Bernard Nightray's study is.

"Might I ask ya something, Lord Elliot?" Mercy asks behind him.

He glances back, and nods wordlessly.

"Why does yer valet hide his eyes?"

Perceptive. He bites his lip before shrugging. "I'm not sure, really. He claims he's not hiding, but I'm not so sure."

The Fidels fall into silence once more. When they reach the thick mahogany doors of his father's study, Elliot knocks, and an attendant opens it for them from the inside. Elliot gestures the twosome to head inside, and then walks away again as the door shuts. He walks back in the direction of the foyer.

Yes, he told Vanessa and Leo that he was going to get ready right away. But he has one more thing to take care of before that.

He makes his way through the halls and comes to the foyer once more, going straight to the coat rack, and snatching his riding jacket from its place there. He throws his arms into the sleeves, buttons the thing, and then grabs his cloak; riding, it'll seem even colder than it is with the chill from the wind. Then he glances around behind him, to be sure no one sees him, and slips outside.

Creeping along the side of the house and ducking under windows, a sense of nostalgia and mischievous wonder returns to him. It seems like such a long time since he did this – sneak out of the house for one reason or another. His adrenaline begins to taint his blood, and he smiles to himself. He should do this more often.

Behind the house, just a number of yards from the back door, is the Nightray stables, filled with the purest of bloodlines all descending from the black terror Diavanos, the original Nightray stallion.

But Elliot prefers more color in a horse than plain old black. It's too cliché, and certainly doesn't help any of the rumors of the family. And among a stable nearly full of black horses, as they are traditional Nightray mounts, it's not hard to find his stud. While most of the deviations of the mold are white, or grey, or dull brown, there's only one palomino in the whole place.

Aztec.

The golden stallion tosses his head over his stall door, pie-bald eyes watching Elliot as he comes ever closer. He can't help smiling; his horse. His horse knows him, and that always makes him smile. Placing a hand on the broad white blaze that stains the horse's face, he speaks low and quiet. "Hello, Aztec. We're going on a special ride, you and me. Shh. It's a surprise."

The horse snorts, and thankfully, Elliot's too far to the side to be caught in the effects of that. He chuckles as he opens the tack box hanging outside the stall; he retrieves his riding gloves and crop.

"Master Elliot!"

He glances back at Robert, the stablemaster, and puts a finger to his lips. "Shhh! I'm not here."

The man frowns, and then cocks a brow. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be preparing for the banquet?"

He nods, trying not to appear too exasperated. "Yes, but I have something I need to do in the city first. Now, you could help me, or you could go away, so I can get to it quicker. I only have so much time."

Robert seems indecisive for only a moment before he goes around the corner, to the saddle rack placed up against Aztec's stall – the only saddle Elliot prefers. It fits Aztec perfectly, and doesn't make either of them sore. While the stablemaster takes the saddle and everything that comes with it into the stall, Elliot grabs Aztec's bridle off the hook beside the door – the golden nameplate glitters in the light streaming through the stable's main entrance.

Elliot pulls the leather strip up and over Aztec's ears, settles the brow band, and fits the bit into the horse's velvety mouth. "When I get back, I won't have the time to take care of Aztec," he says over the horse's neck to the stablemaster on the other side. "Could you could take care of that when the time comes?"

Robert nods. "Of course, young master."

Giving a nod in return, Elliot waits until the servant has completed the cinches, and then ducks under the stallion's neck to mount up from the left side. Once he's settled in the saddle, Robert opens the stall door and Elliot spurs Aztec forward, ducking under the beam that is the overhead frame of the door. With a short salute to Robert, he then digs his heels into the stud's sides, and the horse leaps forward with all the majestic power his muscular frame boasts of.

Thankfully, the Nightray gates are open, as they always are during the day, but it's drawing close to the time when they're to be close, and Elliot knows this. If he isn't back in time, he'll have to deal with the gatekeepers, and all his attempts at secrecy will be thrown out the window.

The ride to the city is rather short, with Aztec eating up the ground like spring grass. Elliot only has a short while to enjoy the wind in his hair before they come to the first row of buildings, and he slows his stallion to keep from barreling into the streets like a maniac. Accidentally running someone over is the last thing he needs.

The streets are still inhabited by the occasional straggler, but almost everyone has retreated into their homes for supper. The city is at one of it's rare quiet points, and the sound of Aztec's hooves on the cobblestone streets seems loud and out of place. Even so, it allows him to pick up his pace a little; he only has so much time.

Elliot still doesn't know where Nerys lives. But if there's one person who can help him with what he needs, it'll be Abigail Highgate – the children's schoolteacher, and the Lutwidge Headmaster's wife.

Their home is taller than it is wide, and nestled right in the midst of the city, between two rows of shops. One of the oddest places to put a home, but they never complained. They preferred being in the midst of the people rather than in a quiet neighborhood, or out in the country, like the dukes' manors. The Highgate home is more like a flat, really, but a two-story, house-sized flat. Sort of confusing, but it looks nice.

Elliot finds it easily, and stops Aztec just outside. After dismounting, he drops the reins to the ground – to give Aztec the illusion that he's tied – and approaches the front steps of the blue house with white trim. Pausing briefly to look up at the windows and the lights shining inside, he pulls the chain to ring the doorbell. Only a few moments pass before a young girl with short black hair opens the door. Her blue eyes are wide as she stares up at him.

Elliot himself stumbles for something to say. He'd been expecting an adult to answer, not a child. Rubbing the back of his neck, he opens his mouth to say something, but she cuts him off.

"Mama! Papa!" He catches a glimpse of a gap where her two front teeth should be. "There's a boy in a fancy coat here!"

Abigail appears through a door to the side, and her expression lightens as she spots him. "Elliot!"

Even now, the sweet motherly nature of his old schoolteacher makes him smile. The dark-haired woman comes to the door, placing her hands on the little girl's shoulders.

"Emmy, why don't you go finish your supper?" she says.

"Who's he, Mama?"

"A friend. Now go on."

Emmy flashes him a broad grin, showing off her missing teeth before skipping around her mother and disappearing into the next room. Abigail opens the door wider, and beckons him in. "Come in, come in! My, my…" Brushing her hands off on her apron after she closes the door, she gives him a once over, and Elliot notices now that she has to look up at him. "It's been a while, hasn't it? You've grown into quite the young man. Seems like just yesterday you came to about here," she holds a hand flat at her hip height.

He doesn't mind her casualness. They know each other, and know each other well. He even resists the urge to duck his head under her mothering, as he once did; he manages to, though, and squares his shoulders, remembering his business.

"I wish I had more time to talk, but I actually came here because I need your help."

Instantly, her countenance turns serious, and she gives him a concerned look. "You're not in any sort of trouble, are you?"

He frowns, shaking his head quickly. "No, no. I need help finding someone. Vanessa's lady in waiting, Nerys, says she has a younger brother – Willy?" If anyone knows the youth of the area, it's Abigail.

She nods, and relief fills him. He isn't sure why…

"Course, I know Willy. Sweetest little boy you'd ever meet. Very sad, though."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

Again, she nods. "He should be having supper at home. The Winterspell house is just down this street and to the left. You're in luck; Cornelius will be out gambling tonight."

Wait. So Willy's sad, and Cornelius (whoever that is) is a gambler? He shakes his head to himself; there's a lot about Nerys he doesn't know, but he's not going to ask. Not now. Not enough time.

He nods to Abigail. "All right; thank you!" He moves for the door.

"Elliot, is everything all right?"

He glances back at her, and gives her a reassuring smile. "Yeah, of course."

"What do you need Willy for?"

His smile widens. "A surprise."

At this, she gives him a wry grin in return. "Ahhhh." Good. She trusts him. He taps the brim of an imaginary hat, and darts back out into the chilling evening air. He goes and leaps up onto Aztec's back, and steers him in the direction that Abigail pointed him in.

Down the cobblestone, to the left, and he spots the home instantly. It's not massive, but it's of good size, and in pristine condition; the white house awaits him at the end of the street, the first house on the block as the buildings and businesses of the city turn into a clean neighborhood. Lights flicker in the downstairs windows as he brings Aztec to a halt in front of it.

Leaving his horse at the gate, Elliot approaches the house as he had the Highgates'. Instead of a bell, there's a large brass knocker in the likeness of a deer's head, which he grips and gives three good knocks.

Again, who answers is not who he expects. He expected a servant of some sort; even the third-rate noble houses have servants, or at least a few. The woman who answers is dressed as any common middle-class woman would, and she bears a slight resemblance to Nerys, though her hair is blonde, and her eyes are violet.

"Hullo?" she says in a soft, small voice. Her expression is so weary, yet calm, he wonders at how anxiety and quiet acceptance can coexist in the same face.

"Uh…" escapes his mouth before he can stop it, and he clears his throat to try and make up for it. "Good evening, Lady Winterspell. I'm Elliot Nightray."

At the name 'Nightray', her eyes widen, and she gives a hurried 'my lord!' and curtsy before beckoning him hurriedly inside. As soon as he's entered the foyer, she closes the door, and turns to him, anxiety winning over calm on her face.

"This isn't about mortgage, is it?" she says, voice trembling almost inaudibly.

He frowns and shakes his head. "No, not at all."

The relief is evident in the sagging of her delicate shoulders. "Then… Then what is it? Is Nerys all right? She hasn't gotten into any trouble, has she?"

So, she instantly assumes the worst at a visit from the scion of her daughter's employing house. More confusion and suspicion swells in him, but he covers it by holding his head high.

"Nothing of the sort, madam. You can rest assured; your daughter is doing very well."

He can see the thankfulness in her eyes at that, and she seems to relax a bit, though she casts a wary glance over her shoulder. A dark splotch on her pale left cheekbone catches his eye. "You don't know how lucky you are, my lord… My husband only just left."

Elliot's frown deepens. "Why-?"

"May I ask what your business is, my lord?" she interrupts, and his eye twitches as he holds out a hand to stop her.

"Wait! Why am I lucky because your husband just left?"

As if it were possible, she pales further, and swallows, wringing her hands until the fingers of her right hand fall on the simple golden band that adorns the ring finger of the other. Her eyes dart back and forth, like a rabbit caught in a corner.

"I-I… He was angry… And…"

He tilts his head to the side to get a better look at the dark spot, and as soon as she realizes what he's doing, her hand flies up to cover it. He frowns deeper.

"Did he give you that?"

This isn't his business. Not in the least. But suddenly, this seems more important than his original plans.

She hurriedly shakes her head. "No, my lord. I stood up too quickly in the kitchen and knocked myself on the counter. Just a clumsy accident, my lord; I apologize for appearing less than presentable."

Eying her, he studies her long and hard, until she begins to fidget. She's lying, he knows that much, just by her nervousness, but she covers it well with that same calm silence. It's a sad, knowing sort of silence, like… like a lamb at the chopping block. She looks like, at any moment, a disaster will strike, and she's readied herself to accept it when it does.

She's so different from Nerys' and her brazen defiance of the world.

This is a woman who's known much trouble, and has come to see it as a part of life, something that can't be fought.

The thought both infuriates him, and pierces his chest with a pity that makes his throat tighten.

"What is your business, my lord, if I may be blunt?" she says, voice almost a whisper. He blinks, emerging from his thoughts, before taking in a deep breath.

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything, my lord."

"I want to surprise Nerys today. With something special. And I'll need Willy's help."

"I'll do it," a new voice says, and both Elliot and Lady Winterspell turn to look at the top of the stairs, where a boy stands. He's dressed casually, in a white shirt, open brown jacket, and calf-length trousers tucked into tall black boots and fastened with red suspenders. Sharp golden eyes and straight, nose-length white hair leaves no question that he's Nerys' brother. He can't be older than twelve.

"I'm Willy," he says, descending a few steps, a pale hand on the railing. "You know my sister?"

Elliot nods.

"Your surprise is gonna be good?" Willy says, his youthful voice holding the same melancholy tone as his mother's, that same tiredness and resignation, yet with a spark of childish hope.

Again, Elliot nods, offering him a smile. "Of course. And it'll only work if you help me."

He sees the beginning of a smile on Willy's face in return. "If it makes my sister happy for once, I'll help."

Lady Winterspell opens her mouth to speak, but Willy shakes his head. "It's all right, Mum. I want to."

Elliot feels for the pocket watch that he'd tucked in his coat's breast pocket, and pulls it out to check the time. He only has thirty minutes left before the banquet.

The lady of the house sighs, lowering her head in resignation. "All right."

Willy comes to life, beaming a grin that rivals the stars and starting down the stairs. Elliot waves at him to stop.

"Hey, wait! You'll need to wear a suit; it's a banquet, after all."

The boy reverses direction in a blink, bounding up the stairs two at a time. "Right, of course! I'll be right back!"

"Be quick about it! If I'm late, my sister'll dance on my grave!" Elliot calls after him before folding his arms and settling back on his heels to wait. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Nerys' mother giving him a strange look. He glances at her, cocking a brow.

"What?"

She studies his face. "…Who are you?"

He makes a face, taken aback. "What do you mean? I told you my name."

"No – who are you? You're not like the others."

He frowns. "The others?"

"The nobility. You said you're doing this for Nerys, but no noble I know would go to such trouble for the daughter of a name drowning in debt."

Debt. Their family is in debt. And the Nightrays must be one of their creditors; that would explain Lady Winterspell's initial reaction.

"I'm not the nobility," he says, giving her a hard look, willing her to understand like so many people didn't. "I'm not 'noble', I'm not 'scion', and I'm not 'the others'. I'm Elliot Nightray; that's all there is to it."

She studies him further, looking into his eyes. He lets her see his irritation at being included in noble stereotypes, how much the idea of being put into a general sect of humanity infuriates him. And maybe, he even gives her a brief peek at how desperately he wants people to see him as he is. A living, breathing, feeling human being, who is as much a person as the rest of them.

"She loves you, you know."

That statement, the blunt assurance of it, snaps him to attention. He stares at her with wide eyes.

Yep. She's Nerys' mother.

"What are you-?"

The woman chuckles. "She's never said it herself, and would deny outright if anyone called her on it, but she does."

He feels the stutter on his tongue even before he says anything. "H-How do you-?"

"I'm her mother, my lord. I was young and in love once; such a long time ago… but I remember it. I know what it looks like."

When one doesn't know what to say, it's best to just keep your mouth closed, lest you say anything humiliating. Usually, Elliot is the master of breaking this rule. But today, he manages to clamp his mouth shut, keep himself from stuttering on, and resolves to just stay silent until the subject drops. At this, the woman laughs again.

"That's what I thought."

He's too easy to read. He needs to work on that. A huff of indignation escapes him, much to his embarrassment.

"This okay?" comes Willy's voice to interrupt whatever Lady Winterspell had thought to say, and he appears at the landing once more, his brown coat and suspenders replaced with a rust-red jacket (still open), blue and gold vest, and gold ribbon about his neck. He still has on the calf-long trousers, but the dusty boots have been traded out for shiny black ones.

"Oh, yes, that's brilliant, Will!" says the woman with an enthusiasm Elliot can tell is forced. "You look so dashing."

"Muuuuum…" the boy groans, coming down the stairs with the careless energy that only exists in young boys.

Lady Winterspell goes over to the coat rack and grabs a scarf and cap, handing them to her boy. Elliot watches quietly as Willy takes them, and puts them on.

"You behave for Lord Elliot, you understand? Do as he says; no funny business." She fusses at the scarf after Willy's wrapped it around his neck, tugging it so it reaches his ears and covers his mouth.

"Yes, Mum." His voice his muffled by the fabric, but his smile is evident by the crescent-shape of his eyes. She pats his head, and then looks up at Elliot, imploring in her violet eyes.

He nods, understanding clearly. "I'll look after him."

With a grateful smile, she lets Willy go, and Elliot moves for the door, this time with Willy in tow. The two boys enter into the winter weather, and Willy waves goodbye to his mother while Elliot goes straight across the yard and out the picket gate, to where Aztec is still waiting, snuffing for grass under the snow.

"Blimey, is that your horse!?" Willy exclaims from behind him as he picks the reins up off the ground.

Elliot glances back at him, and nods once. "Aztec. Ever ridden before?"

"I had a pony once; rode him a lot. Until we had to give him to the doctor."

Another payment of debt. How much did they owe, and how much had they lost in trying to repay it? Elliot blinks down at the boy, trying not to let his frustration show at being so close to figuring things out but having the answer just out of his reach. He finds it harder than he thought he might now, with adults out of the picture and only a boy to witness his actions.

Willy, he gives the lad credit, is not so easily deceived, and he sighs. "Mum won't say it, but we owe lots of money to lots of people. When we can't make money – which is usually – we have to give stuff away. Have you ever been in debt before?"

A frown lowers Elliot's brows. "No; I'm a Nightray. People owe us debts."

"Tell me about it. Why do you think my sister works for you?"

Well, it certainly can't be for Vanessa's charming company.

Vanessa. The banquet. Running out of time! He swings up onto Aztec's back, and lowers a hand to Willy. "Come on; up you go."

Willy grabs his gloved hand and gives a good jump off the ground, throwing himself onto the stallion's back with Elliot's help, and situating himself just behind the saddle. Elliot glances back to see him gripping the edges of the leather with taut knuckles.

"We'll be going fast. You might have to hang on to me."

Willy makes a face, a near-invisible white brow cocking upward. But he doesn't argue, and gets a grip on Elliot's coat collar. Better than nothing.

"This is weird," the boy mutters, and Elliot rolls his eyes.

"Tell me about it. I know it's not ideal, but just don't choke me." Without another word, he spurs Aztec on, and they're soon cantering back through the city, toward the road that will take them to the Nightray mansion.

"Why didn't you bring another horse?" Willy asks over the clatter of hooves.

Elliot frowns, and shakes his head. "Didn't think about it."

"What!? Why not?"

"I thought you'd be younger. Smaller. And… not know how to ride. Besides, I was in a hurry!"

"So, after all this time working for you, Nerys has never once mentioned how old I am?" The boy sounds more irritated than wounded, a refreshing difference to how he had first sounded back at his home.

"Never came up!"

"Oh. Yeah, that's nice. Gee, thanks, sister."

Yup. Nerys' brother.

They leave the city and plunge into the countryside, onto the winding road that leads to the top of the hill, where the mansion sits like a sentry. The sun is nearing the horizon, throwing streaks of orange and red across the sky, and in the deep shadows of the sunset, Elliot can see the lights from the mansion's windows. No doubt, they're all set for the banquet by now, if not getting in a few early guests. He'll have to be fast, now… and even sneakier.

He sees the carriage at the gates as they near, and pulls Aztec to a stop to wait. The gatekeeper speaks to the driver a while longer, before the visitors pull forward, into the courtyard. Waiting until they get to the doors, Elliot then spurs forward again, urging the stallion to a gallop. They race past a shouting gatekeeper and leave him behind in their dash for the stables. They'll be past the patrons and out of sight behind the house before they can even know who he is. And if none of the guests know he was almost late for the banquet, it's best for everyone.

At the stable entrance, Elliot leaps off Aztec's back. Willy follows, albeit a bit clumsily, and staggers when he lands. When he straightens, Elliot raises his brows at the grimace on his face. When he the boy takes a step, he easily figures out why.

"Saddle sore. It wears off. Touch your toes a couple times." Elliot looks up to see Robert approaching, gives the stablemaster a nod, before nudging Willy and heading for the back door. As they approach, Willy pauses to look up at the height of the house.

"Okay. Your house is _much _cooler than your horse."

Elliot snickers, hand on the doorknob. "It's not much."

"Liar."

"Okay, okay, so it is cool. Now hurry up! I'm probably gonna get my ears lectured off as it is."

Willy eyes him as he comes close, looking so much like Nerys it's not even funny. "You don't really act like a noble, you know?"

"So I've been told." Elliot opens the door and steps inside, waiting for Willy before closing it again. They hang in the shadows just long enough to remove their winter wear, and then enter into the kitchen, which seems to have exploded into a chaos since Elliot left.

"Young master!" cries Cook, looking aghast. The large woman, her dark skin glinting with sweat as she stands over a boiling pot, steps back to smash her hands onto her hips. "You're late!"

Elliot raises his eyebrows, and pulls out his pocket watch to check the time. Upon looking at the clock's face, he looks back to Cook. "I still have fifteen minutes!"

"'Xactly," she says with a pouty face, brow wrinkled in scolding. "Get your skinny butt movin'!"

It's good to see she's learning that he prefers to be treated as an equal. Of course, if any of the other Nightrays were around, she wouldn't dare. But they're not, are they? He smiles, and then covers it with a scowl. "I'm going, I'm going!" With a wave to Willy, he moves through the kitchen, quicker than last time, and aware enough to dodge all the servants bustling back and forth with last minute preparations.

"Aren't you their boss?" Willy asks with a confused frown.

Elliot glances back as they leave the cacophony that is the kitchen. The boy seems surprised that his scowl has vanished so quickly. Elliot nods. "Yeah. Why?"

"So, why do you do what they tell you to?"

"Because she's right. I'm cutting it really, _really _close. Okay – you, turn here." He stops at an intersection of halls, and points down the right. "Straight at the first turn, right at the second, up the flight of stairs, to the left, and to the furthest door on the right. Your sister should still be there, I think. You know how girls take forever to get ready for a party."

Willy takes a moment to register the directions before looking up warily at him. "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Elliot turns to the left, and takes the shortest route to the third floor – he always preferred a room with a view. His room is on the third floor.

He practically sprints the entire way, skidding on the patches of bare wood he manages to accidentally step on. Missteps that miss the carpet by inches in his haste. Missteps that, in his snow-dampened shoes, send him sliding. On his side. Twice. By the time he reaches his room, he's ready to chuck the shoes at the wall. So, in his personal sanctum, he does. They leave no mark; no one will know, unless someone happens to hear him cursing at them. But he does not pause. He only has ten minutes left!

He doesn't even watch his forsaken shoes fall to the floor as he shuts the door – quite loudly – locks it, and runs over to his bed. Gah! Where've they gone!? He had them all laid out! Growling to himself, he turns and darts for the wardrobe. Some blasted servant probably put the suit away, or thought it was out because it needed to be laundered.

His socks slip on the polished wood worse than the wet shoes, but there's no helping that. Jerking the wardrobe doors open, he rifles through the hangers only to find the suit he'd had made ready for this evening still missing. Now he has to choose another. With eight minutes to spare.

Has to look good, has to look good, he chants silently to himself as he scans the coats. Something besides black, for tonight. Why does he own so much black!?

The brightest color in the closet is a tailed coat of deep red, blood red, with gleaming brass buttons and gold thread embroidery. Brand new, too. He's never worn it before.

It'll work.

He snatches it out, and tosses it onto the bed before kneeling down to rummage through the wardrobe drawers for a clean shirt, vest, slacks, and matching cravat.

The next time he checks his pocket watch, once he's changed, once he's fastened his family crest onto his pockets and buttoned the last d***** button on the coat, it's four 'til six. He lets out the breath he's been holding.

Not dead yet.

"That has to be a record or something," he mutters to himself, tucking the watch into its rightful place in his front pocket. "I ought to get some kind of credit for that." Shaking his head to himself, he hurries for the door, unlocks it, and throws it open.

Only to almost run Leo over on the other side. But before Elliot can snap at him for being late, Leo beats him to the punch. Or, in this case, the whap upside the head.

"D*****, LEO!"

"Do you know how late you are!?" the valet hisses. "When you said you had things to do, if I'd known it'd keep you so long, I would have tied you up and dragged you here myself!"

"Hey, I'm ready, aren't I?" Elliot rubs his head before dropping his hand, only to raise it again to take the white gloves Leo hands him. It's only as he's pulling them onto his fingers that he notices the two people standing behind Leo.

Willy, he knows already. But the woman catches him completely off guard.

Someone has braided her satiny hair into a Dutch crown-braid, and set a silver circlet to rest on it, with ivory roses, leaves and curling vinery made of cloth hanging on either side. The blush-pink silk gown brings out the rosy tone of her pale skin, and contrasts with trim of ivory tulle that lines the layered neckline – which is of modest height, he notes, and then has to shake his head to clear it. Bows adorn the skirt, and pin up a layer of ivory lace covered with designs of white ferns and foliage. She cradles a matching fan in hands coated in silk gloves that cover her entire arm up to her sleeves, which hang low on her shoulders. Of all things he has to keep from staring at, it's the smooth, pale skin of her now bare shoulders, which he's never seen before.

But what startles him most is her face. Her scar is nearly gone, as is her defining beauty mark, both covered by paint of some sort or other. If he looks close enough, he can see the shadows, signs of the slight differences in the smoothness of her skin, but if he weren't looking, he wouldn't see them. Her usually light lashes have been darkened as well, nearly black, her eyes lined with brown and her eyelids powdered with hues of pink, brown, and gold, gold that brings out the color of her eyes. And her lips – oh, her lips – gleam cherry red.

This is no maid. This… This is a lady.

A woman.

An absolutely radiant woman.

"That… is the weirdest face I've ever seen you make."

And the spell is shattered by the blunt statement of the voice that is most obviously Nerys'. But even when she speaks, he can't help staring at her lips, the way they move, how they catch the light…

"It's like you're trying to decide whether to be embarrassed, or… I don't know what the 'or' is, but whatever it is, you're not sure you want to be embarrassed, so you've got to be something else."

Oh, he's embarrassed. Embarrassed for wanting to steal this woman away, and never let anyone else have her. If he never saw another human being again, but had her with him, he wouldn't mind. His thoughts rise higher and higher, like a hot-air balloon launching.

He hates this ecstacy. He never knows what to do with it!

Thankfully, Leo snaps him out of it by smacking his arm. "Your mouth's still hanging open."

He blinks, and reality comes crashing down upon him again. "C*** - sorry!" he offers a pacifying look at Nerys, who has her hands on her young brother's shoulders. "What time is it?"

Leo stops him before he can fish for his watch. "Time for the banquet. Now, what exactly is this plan of yours?"

"Yeah, I wanna know why you turned my sister into a girl." For this remark, Willy receives a firm slug on his skinny arm, courtesy of said sister. He flinches, but is grinning to himself.

Elliot starts walking, knowing they'll follow him, and also knowing time is of the essence. "No one would ever approve of a servant attending a banquet as a guest."

Behind him, Nerys snorts. "Duh. So why the fancy get-up?"

He looks at them over his shoulder, giving them his best sly grin. "We're going to play a game of pretend."

"You know, you look positively evil when you do that." Leo scolds him, but he's grinning back. Nerys is a friend of both of theirs, and by now, the valet's begun to put it all together.

"I try."

"Obviously."

"Can someone explain to me what we're doing?" Nerys deadpans, and Elliot explains as they descend the stairs to the first floor.

"A servant can't attend a banquet unless their serving someone. Technically, we're breaking no rules, as this could be considered an order from me." He pauses to look back at her. "You are to attend the banquet as Countess de Winter, you are to act as a mysterious newcomer to the nobility, and you are to, above all, enjoy yourself. Is that clear?"

She's staring at him, golden eyes wide. Willy, expression matching, recovers first.

"…Will there be food?"

"Willy!" Nerys smacks him again. This time, the boy scowls.

Elliot gives him a disapproving frown, but is hiding his amusement. "Course there will be. What's a banquet without refreshments?"

"Good, 'cause I skipped supper because I wasn't hungry. But now I am."

Nerys rolls her eyes. "Let me guess – you weren't hungry because Mum made onion soup again."

Willy bites his lip, shifting his feet, and that's enough answer for all of them. Yes.

"Come on!" Leo beckons them.

Elliot changes direction at the last minute. "Leo, Willy, you two come with me. Nerys, go around the long way, and come through the ballroom's main door, like you just came into the house; tell them you're late, and you apologize."

"And you expect them to believe that!?"

He doesn't answer as they round the corner; she's a smart girl, and he knows this is going to work. Two corners later, they come to the back door of the ballroom, which opens onto the dias that holds host's table, which usually seats the members of the Nightray family during special dinners and such. Today, though, the seats will be empty.

"You really like her, don't you?" Leo mutters, just quiet enough that Willy won't hear from behind them. "Like… really, really like her."

Elliot shoots him a dagger glare, hoping to quickly and efficiently make his message clear. "Shut up."

The valet raises his hands in surrender, but just as soon as he puts them down, a knowing smirk crosses the noire's face, and Elliot bites his lip to keep from saying anything further.

Denial's the clincher, and both of them know it. Which is why he can't allow himself to say anything else.

They creep through the door onto the dias. Elliot, giving the other two a nod, slips down the steps and discreetly enters the crowd. The number of guests appears to be quite the healthy amount, too; he sees many that they invited, and even some they hadn't. He spots Miss Sharon Rainsworth and Xerxes Break at the refreshment table, and Oz Vessalius and Gilbert (surprise appearance, it seems!) pulling a girl clad in red and white away from the ice-sculpture of a raven at the center of said table. Even Vincent and Echo have joined them, for however briefly it may be. Above the hum of the people, the band on the raised platform in the corner plays their soothing music – ah, music. It has a way of easing Elliot's nerves, and he almost forgets that he's late, and most likely will be facing a talking-to from Vanessa later on about it.

In the far corner, near where his father is seated, stand Jonathan and Mercy Fidel. Their attire has changed dramatically since the first time they met; Jonathan sports a sharp black jacket with gold buttons and silver thread, by the looks of it from this distance, and dark grey trousers, and Mercy looks elegant with her curly red locks pinned up in an overflowing bun atop her head, dressed in a crème gown layered with dark olive-green tulle. Quite the difference between the loose-haired, uniform-clad envoy from earlier, and the refined noblewoman he sees now.

He's debating whether or not to approach them when the ballroom attendant calls out over the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the Countess, Lady Jahreel de Winter."

Elliot lifts his gaze to spot Nerys standing on the platform beside the attendant. Pink dyes her cheeks as many others scrutinize her, as the wretched buzzards are apt to do with every unfamiliar face they meet; her eyes are searching, darting, and he has a good idea for what. Taking a few steps to the side, his movement instantly draws her attention, and he gives her a slight nod. She draws her head up, resuming her usual proud stance, and descends the five steps into the ballroom, every inch of her attesting to her faux title. Now, among other nobles, as she begins to mingle with such practiced poise, it's not hard to see that her family must have once been quite noteworthy.

Yet, she can only attend this banquet by deception. She, who unfortunate circumstances have reduced to a scullery maid and lady-in-waiting, serving those who were once her equals in society, those very ones who turned on her and her name and lashed at it until there was little left. He clenches his fists.

Why does the world have to be so full of injustice? It isn't fair! None if it.

It will take her quite a while to find him in the crowd again, so he settles in to wait. Occasionally, one of the adults stops and talks to him, asking about his family, how his mother's doing, how goes the riding or the swordsmanship, talking about the weather, all the things adults have deemed worthy to speak of to the youths. Nevermind he's sixteen; it's only one year after his Coming of Age. He still looks young, and that, for some reason, sets older ones off. They think they can't talk to him about the real issues, the gossip, the scandals, the things everyone else is talking about. It's always irked him, and he's always had to just suck it up and pretend it doesn't. That's what being a noble means. Saying one thing, meaning another, never saying what you mean or meaning what you say, smoke and mirrors, wearing two faces, one for the public and a whole other for things done in private.

He hates it.

"Elliot!"

Oh, just the last thing he wants to hear right now… The voice of that annoying blond Vessalius brat.

"Elliot! Hey, Elliot!"

"I can hear you!" he snaps, looking over his shoulder to see where Oz stands at the refreshment table, waving. "So can everybody else!"

Oz seems oblivious to the nobles around them either snickering or giving him disapproving glares. He beckons Elliot over.

He could just walk away. He could go to the total other side of the room, counting on the music and the chatter of the guests to drown out Oz's nagging.

But he doesn't.

"Fancy meeting you here," the Vessalius boy says with a grin as Elliot comes to a stop in front of him.

"Duh. I live here, idiot."

Oz crosses his arms over his chest, white coat rustling with the movement. "You sound like you're angry at me."

"I'm always angry at you."

"Why's that?"

Elliot rolls his eyes. "Because you fangirl over Edgar, and you're annoying."

"How do I – hey!"

Ha. A sneer quirks Elliot's mouth as he snickers down at the younger boy. While Oz rants about the difference between fangirling and fanboying, he zones out and looks over his shoulder, searching for Nerys in the crowd. With all the people mingling back and forth, it's impossible to point her out among them.

"Who are you looking for?" Oz breaks into his thoughts again, and he takes a deep breath through the nose to keep from growling.

"None of your business, Shorty."

"Would you stop calling me names!?"

"No."

At least Oz knows how he feels. A banquet is the last place any self-respecting noble wants to lose his temper. Even a sloppy, overconfident young buck only just reentering society.

Come to think of it, why was Oz here anyway? He'd never completed his Coming of Age, his introduction into the world of the nobility. On what grounds was he eligible to attend this banquet?

He's just about to voice this concern when the ballroom attendant rings his bell.

"If you all would make room, the dances are about to begin!"

Instantly, people move off to the sides, and Elliot finally catches a glimpse of Nerys. She's moving to the opposite side of the room; at her side, the young scion from the Roseland county is inching a little closer than he likes. Nerys keeps subtly moving away, but then the distance is closed once more as the young man continues to badger her.

The dirty weasel.

Elliot leaves Oz to his ranting while heading to the left. This way around, through the tightening edge-crowd, is the shortest route to her. It takes him past his father; the Fidels are among the first to step onto the dance floor, Jonathan with Iris Galewind and Mercy with Theodore Velvet – two other second-rate nobles. Giving Bernard a nod in passing, Elliot continues on his swift pace; he needs to catch Nerys before Peter Roseland can ask her for the first dance. If he doesn't, he'll have to wait until it's over for the next one; or worse, some froward young woman – there are plenty out there, he knows – will approach and demand a dance from him as well. Then, once they're seen on the floor, it could be ages before he finally gets the chance to-

There they go. Roseland has beaten him to it. Even through her plastered polite smile, it's obvious that Nerys isn't at all happy about it. Neither is Elliot.

He backs up against the wall, out of everyone's way, to wait. He snags a glass of wine off a passing tray, just to be able to hold something and pass the time. Thankfully, it seems like all the young women are too occupied in waiting for their turn to dance with Vincent or Gilbert or any of the older young men in the room. Not too many girls, come to think of it, want to dance with someone younger than them. They find it cute; it's more like a game. But a dance should be so much more. There's a unity in a dance that's found in few other activities. It takes great skill to succeed in it.

It takes nearly an hour, and several painstakingly long songs until he finally beats the next gentleman caller to Nerys. At long last, he gets to watch the perturbed look on the young man's face as he cuts in.

"Do you enjoy making people angry at you?" Nerys says. Over the music, only he will be able to hear her.

He shrugs. "It's better than all the fake smiles and dainty laughs."

She laughs, genuinely, and it's a refreshing sound indeed. The next song begins from the band, and Elliot recognizes it easily. A waltz in a minor key, a beautiful piece that is both mysterious and elegantly sophisticated. He holds out his hand for Nerys to take; their fingers entwine as easily as they ever have. Bracing his other hand behind her shoulder, he tries not to react when her other hand slides up his arm to rest at the crook of his neck. At the next beat, they move as one.

Up 'til now, he's never danced with anyone, outside his mother and sister. And that was ages ago, when he was first learning. He wondered in all this preparation for the banquet, if the things he'd learned would be hard to remember. But they aren't.

They're flying. They must be! They move as one across the floor, spinning, soaring. Their feet barely touch the ground. He's weightless, unbound to this wretched world for just this moment, this rare moment that he knows will not last. And her eyes… they're fixated on him as well. She does not turn her head to watch the onlookers as the others do, she does not look away. She is locked, willingly captive to the rhythm that sweeps them both to the skies.

There are no others. No patrons, no guests, no Oz or Gilbert or Vanessa or anyone. Not even Leo. Not now. It is only them, and the music, the sweet, sweet music, the music that unites them, binds their hearts and minds. Every step, every movement is perfectly matched, as if they had practiced this together a hundred times. But they haven't. Nor will they, ever again, he guesses.

What will happen to her, he wonders? When it's all said and done. If anyone finds out what they've done. She could very well be fired, thrown out to the streets for sneaking around like this.

But she's smiling. And laughing. Lifting her face as if basking in the glow of heaven itself. And that… that makes it worth it.

This is reckless, even for him.

And with her hand in his, their bodies pressed together, their feet moving in time, her skirts twirling and tugging about his shins, he can't bring himself to care.

Even still, he has to keep a watch out for others dancing. They're moving so slow! How boring it must be, taking miniscule steps and remaining in a closed space, dancing only to be seen. If only they would take the time, pour their soul into it, and that would be the closest thing any of them have ever had to taking to the skies.

The place is too crowded. He had seen this coming. And his plan has not yet come to fruition, so it's time to make his move. He slows but a little, but doesn't break the rhythm; to do so would be a shame. But he steps away from her, keeping hold of her hand, and guiding her through a door off to the side, out onto the patio. In the dead of winter, the early days of December, no one has dared come out here, and it's easy to see why. It's freezing, particularly now that the sun's gone down. Stars, and a bright crescent moon light the sky, and dye the garden silver. Usually, the garden in the winter makes him feel sad; everything is dead and grey. But looking at it as a backdrop for the beautiful woman beside him, it looks so regal, so elegant. Like the beauty hidden in icicles, fixtures molded by ice and sun, so stunningly pleasing to the eye, but so deadly. This garden is not dead; it is merely waiting for the day when the sun shall wake it once more.

And something deep within his chest yearns to be that sun. For when spring comes, it has the honor of witnessing the bushes sprout, turn green again, and blossom forth with the loveliest roses of the season.

What has gotten into him? He's usually not this philosophical. Or at least… he doesn't think he is.

Eh, it's been a while since he had a full glass of wine. Or two. Probably done something to his head.

No matter. It must not be too bad, because nothing hinders him as he vaults over the railing into the bushes on the other side. Nerys remains on the patio, peering down at him with a cock-eyed look.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asks, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Shh! You're spoiling the effect."

"The… what? You planned this?"

He gently pushes the brittle bushes aside, and reaches back underneath them. "Yes."

"Edwin inspired you again, did he?"

"No!" He pauses. "…Well, yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

She chuckles. "It's a little cliché, isn't it?"

"That would depend on how you look at it." Finally, his fingers close around the box he couldn't see in the darkness, and he pulls it out. Ducking under the bushes, he then pops up on the other side, along the rail, right in front of Nerys. She jumps, and he smirks at her.

"I'm not a ghost, though, unlike the lover in that particular installment." Oh, yes. It's his turn to make her blush with the use of the word. And it works. He then holds out the long, flat rectangular box to her. "Here."

She eyes it. "What is it?"

"Why do you think it's in a box? You have to open it to find out."

Slowly, she takes it, running her gloved hand over it.

"Happy birthday, Nerys," he utters, and she freezes, before letting her shoulders sag.

"Elliot…" Her tone says it all. It's that 'you didn't have to do this' tone.

He gives her an exasperated look right back. "Would you just open it?"

"But you shouldn't-"

"I wanted to, all right?" He hops back over onto her side of the rail, and leans back on it. "Now open it up."

She doesn't look happy about it – but he knows in a moment, she will – but she undoes the latch, and flips open the lid. Her jaw drops at what's nestled inside. Elliot smiles to himself.

It's a necklace, an antique necklace of pearls in half-star pattern. But the pearls, however, are not the centerpieces of the jewelry. In each diamond sets a pendant of dazzling dragon's breath – a stone of immense beauty, a foggy blend of royal blue, rose red, and fiery orange, swirling together in glittering patterns like stardust.

"Oh…" Nerys breathes, staring down at the piece. Her hand hovers over the box, like she wants to touch it, but can't bring herself to for fear of soiling it. Elliot reaches around to pick it gently out of the box.

"It was a gift," he states as he steps behind her, "from Claude to our mother. When he and Ernest were killed… she ordered it, and many of her other treasures to be thrown out like trash. I couldn't stand the idea of those priceless things just being thrown away, so I managed to save some, this included. I kept it hidden in my room, wondering what I was supposed to do with it… Then I figured it out." He loops his hands, holding the necklace between them, around the front of her neck and then draws the clasp together at the back. He swears he sees a shiver go down her spine as his gloved fingers brush against her neck.

When he returns in front of her, he finds the look of shock still on her delicate features. She reaches up absently, running her fingers over the large, exotic stones. She opens her mouth wider, as if to speak, hesitates, and when she finally finds words, her voice is trembling.

"Why are you doing this?"

He frowns a bit in confusion. He thought it to be obvious. "What do you mean?"

"All of this! All of it. I don't understand…"

"What is there to not understand?"

She hangs her head, closing the box and drawing it close to her chest. "You… It's one thing… to play games. To… to test waters… to-to kiss when no one's watching, but Elliot, this… I don't think you understand what you're doing."

"Of course I do! Contrary to your belief, I'm not an idiot; if I didn't know what I was doing, I wouldn't have done it!" he snaps, and instantly regrets it when she flinches.

What had he told himself about watching what he said around her? Why is he snapping at her?

Because she's rejecting him. He sees it coming before she's even said it. And it hurts.

"Do you know what this means?" She presses her fingers against the necklace, looking up at him. "This is a threat to secrecy; what's going to happen to you if anyone finds out you gave this to me? A family treasure, and you've given it to a scullery maid."

She's concerned for him.

"I know, Nerys! D*****, I know! But if I cared, I wouldn't have given it to you."

Her eyes are turning fiery as his. "You're willing to have people spreading lies of who knows what about you?"

He meets her gaze evenly. "Yes."

"I'm not going to sugarcoat it. You're willing to deal with people saying you're naïve, saying I'm only luring you for money, and you're falling for it?"

"Yes."

"You're willing to be scorned because you've chosen below yourself?"

"Yes!"

"You're willing to have people claiming I'm your harlot?"

"Yes!"

She finally bursts, throwing her arms out in question. "Why!? That's what I don't understand! Why would you be willing to go through all this trouble for me!? Because maybe I don't want to see you go through that!"

The words leap off his tongue before he can strangle them. "Well, maybe because I love you?"

Her mouth drops open, further than it had when she saw the necklace.

But he can't stop. Now that that's out in the open, he can't lose his courage to finish just yet. He holds on to his anger; it makes him feel braver.

"There. I said it." He raises his chin, defying her doubt. "I love you. You, Nerys Winterspell. Not for your status, or your wealth, or even how pretty you are on the outside. But for who you are. Underneath it all. There? That's where it counts. You know what, Nerys? I thank God for you. I thank God for who you are. Dare I say it, I even thank God that Leo and Oz Vessalius locked us in the library together that day. Because if they hadn't, we wouldn't be here right now."

She's covered her mouth with a hand, the other arm wrapping around her middle. She begins to double over, and without really thinking about it, he reaches out to steady her with both hands. She returns the grip, holding on to his arms to keep from staggering. Her face has twisted in an odd sort of agony, and it instantly concerns him. Then the tears squeeze themselves from her eyes, and he only grows more confused. That is, until she speaks again.

Her voice is but a hoarse whisper, cottony from her tears, but he understands every word.

"No one's ever said that to me before."

He stiffens, and unconsciously tightens his hold on her. She continues.

"I've never had one reliable thing in my life, Elliot… Not one."

And so, he gathers her into his arms, holding her close. She doesn't weep, though a few more wayward tears escape her lovely eyes. She's strong; but not unbreakable. Today, he's only begun to see just how chipped and cracked her armor really is. She hides it so well, but when it comes right down to it, she's still a woman. A woman in desperate need of love. She needs someone to understand her, to care for her unconditionally, to ignore all those flaws in her and focus on how beautiful they make her. Because, after all, broken glass is so utterly beautiful. And when all is said and done…

They're really not that different.

* * *

She'd felt the need to walk. Willy had taken up Elliot's offer to take a cab home, but she'd needed the air. And the alone time. Just to try and still her reeling mind from everything that had taken place tonight. So she pretends she's still on the ballroom floor as she walks the cobblestone streets of the city, swaying back and forth and imagining she's still dressed like a countess, and dancing with the man who holds her heart.

It's not wise, she tells herself. It's never wise to give your heart away. Especially when it's been broken so many times. But this time… somehow, she's sure it won't be.

For no man could ever love so fiercely as Elliot Nightray. He, who does everything with his whole heart. He, who looks beyond the rotting wood and rusted iron of the outside, and sees golden treasure lying wait within.

Today is going to be remembered as the best birthday of her life, she decides, smiling to herself. Her seventeenth birthday. The day things changed for the better.

She's left her gloves off, just so she can reach up and caress the gorgeous necklace he gave her. She's never seen such a beautiful stone; dragon's breath, he called it. A befitting name.

Footfalls shuffle behind her, and she freezes before whirling on her heels. Siren bursts at her consciousness, but Nerys silences her, trying to listen for another sound. In the shadows of the alley she's taken as a shortcut, she can't see a thing. The lights from the city lanterns do nothing in the recesses of the back streets.

"Hello?" she calls harshly, and the alley walls send her voice bouncing back at her. She watches the darkness for any shadow, any movement. "Who's there?"

Pain explodes in the back of her head and she tumbles forward, skinning her palms on the rough cobblestone in a vain attempt to catch her fall. Instead, she sprawls on her stomach, ribs aching and lungs gasping for breath. She can already feel blood staining her forehead where it cracked on the road.

A booted foot slams into her side, and she rolls away, curling into herself to try and shield her stomach from anymore blows even as her ribs ache with every wheezing breath. The hooded assailant reaches for her; she catches the brawny fist, clawing it, the other hand strikes. It grabs a fistful of her hair, brings her head up, and bangs it on the street once more. Everything disappears in a flash of white for just a moment before the darkness returns. Colors merge in a fuzzy mess, but she can still make out the silhouette of her attacker.

Calloused fingers brush her neck and for one horrible moment, she knows this is it. She will not save her virginity for the one she loves. She trembles, throat constricting.

But the hand goes no further. The fingers undo the clasp of the necklace, and snatch it away, and the figure stands up. In the darkness, she can't hope to see its face.

His voice is most certainly masculine, though. "You are to stay away from Elliot Nightray. Is that understood?"

"Why should I," she manages to gasp, still clutching her ribs and struggling for even breath, "do anything you say?"

"Because if you don't, your family will suffer. The Nightrays have been generous, and have not called on your father's full debt to them. They could claim recompense at any time."

"We're already suffering, genius," she mutters through clenched teeth. "My father doesn't care how much he owes, because I bring home a paycheck every week."

"Then your employment will be terminated. And it will be seen to that no one else within a hundred-mile radius hires you as well. Then, your father's debt to the Nightrays will be called on, and if he is unable to pay it, they will take the house, and everything in it. It may even lead to debtors prison for your parents and you, and the workhouses for your young brother." The figure pauses, probably staring down at her. "It isn't a hard choice. Your family's well-being, or a noble who deserves better than you. Choose well… gutter wench."

In a sweep of the cloak, he's gone, and the alley is silent once more.

Silent, save for the quiet sobs of one girl who is truly, and utterly alone.

**A/N: So that's it! Poor Nerys... Anywho, the song that Elliot and she danced to is Blackheart by Two Steps From H***. And just as a bonus, the song after which Nerys is named is Winterspell by the same artist. You can also see a drawing I did of Elliot and Nerys at penelopejadewing . deviantart art/ Elliot-And-Nerys- 364733703?q = gallery%3 A penelopejadewing &qo=0**

**and a collage of what Nerys was wearing to the banquet at media-cache-is0 . pinimg 550x/ 83/ 34/ 20/ 83342040343 c8bad 76f1d9e473d4821f . jpg**

**if you can get through all those spaces. XP Thanks for reading, and again, I hope you enjoyed it. I really love this charrie pair. And don't worry; if you've read Siren's Lure, and are waiting for Elliot's revenge on Leo, it's coming! This story is actually key to it. ^_^**

**The moral of this story, you could say, is that the tongue is the most powerful part of the human body. It, through the words we say, has the power to build up, or break down. Through it, we can spread lies, or speak truth. We can hurt or heal. And with great power, comes great responsibility. We must always be careful for each and every word that we say, because one day, we'll have to give account for all of them.**

**PJ out! God bless y'all!**

**~Penelope**


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